


On Another Shore

by Verity (PenelopeGrace)



Series: World War III [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Military, Character's Name Also Spelled as Vekar, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Gaming, I'm Sorry, M/M, Post-World War III, Social Media, Virtual Reality, World War III, but it happens, i do not post about Yuuri's gay moment here, ice skating still happens, it's in the companion fic, possibly long fic tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 20:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeGrace/pseuds/Verity
Summary: After losing his parents in a horrible accident, Viktor Nikiforov finds solace in ice skating. In the post-WW III world, Russia is barely surviving in the new deathless wars of off-shore battles and proxy wars. Newly recruited despite Aunt Lilia’s misgivings, Viktor joins the frontlines of a new type of war and calls himself Nike.For over ten years, Viktor serves dutifully as Russia’s combatant in the Air Force and turns the tide into Russia's favor. However, an accidental discovery of Russia’s top secret files shatters what’s left of Viktor’s world, sending him running to the US only to find the same monsters waiting in America. Falling in love with an enemy combatant, Yuuri Katsuki, is not a choice. Yet as the walls begin to close in on him, Viktor begins to wonder who the real enemy is.Insignia AU (S.J. Kincaid). Companion fic toOn Opposite Shores(Yuuri’s POV).





	On Another Shore

**Author's Note:**

> Yay. . . I can't believe I'm doing this. This is a post-World War III fic, so it should be interesting. Based off of Insignia (written by S.J. Kincaid) but you don't have to read that book to get this. 
> 
> This is a companion piece to _On Opposite Shores_. Solely, Viktor's POV.

**8 Years Old: St. Petersburg, Russia**

As soon as he threw the pale white roses onto his parents’ coffins, Viktor Nikiforov’s mind turns blissfully blank. He escapes from the funeral, diving into the self-driving car. Viktor could barely understand the directions coming out of his mouth. All he can feel is incredible numbness, a sense that this isn’t actually happening to him. 

Yet it is. 

Two blinks of an eye later, he tumbles onto the ice rink close to his home. He could hardly care that he wears some random rental skates. Not the personalized ones his mother bought for him last month, the one that cost thousands of Russian rubles. Losing himself in the movements despite the curious onlookers who peer closely at the well-dressed boy in a black suit, Viktor dance across the ice. He loosens his black tie after three laps and throws himself into a hard, rough sit spin. Wisps of silver-blond hair escape from his braid.

It doesn’t matter if it’s ugly. 

His mother isn’t here to criticize it. But if he is there for one more second at the funeral, if he has to stare at all those people giving him pitying looks, if he has to. . . 

He can’t breathe. 

His legs collapse underneath him, and he lands onto the ice. Tears fall freely from his bloodshot cerulean eyes. 

“Oh, Vitya.”

Aunt Lilia wraps her arm around his shoulders, easily picking him up in her ballet flats. She rubs soothing movements into his back, letting Viktor wrap an arm around her neck and hug her tight. 

“I. . .” Viktor chokes out. “You don’t have skates on.” 

Lilia replies, “It will be alright, Vitya.” 

She carries him off the rink. Her husband, Yakov Feltsman, opens his mouth as if to say something. 

She gently shakes her head. 

*OAS*

The dinner after the funeral proceedings befits the Nikiforovs’ station. An open bar with guests happily drinking gallons of liquor in minutes, a live string quartet playing gentle but somber music from the corner, and over two hundred well-dressed guests approaching Viktor to give them their condolences. 

After the first three, their words begin to blend together to Viktor's ears. 

The sixth one almost has Viktor running away again, if it isn't for Lilia's grip on his hand underneath the table. The seventh stands in front of their table, his face serene. 

“Hello, Viktor,” says a man dressed in a dark blue bespoke suit. Muscles bulged underneath his jacket, and to Viktor, his dark eyes pierce his very soul. “I'm Erik Gaspar of IG Technologies. I worked very close with Dr. Nikiforov. He was a brilliant scientist. His work ethic made everyone envious. I met your mother before. The world of figure skating lost their brightest star.” 

Viktor never remember his mother as the brightest star. To him, she is just his mother. Star or not, just his mother. He glances away from Mr. Gaspar's odd gaze. 

Lilia, always a diplomat, replies, “Thank you, Mr. Gaspar. You were a researcher?” 

“No, I work in security. Dr. Nikiforov was so enthusiastic about his pet projects. His favorite person to talk about is always Viktor. His first time walking, his first word. . .” Mr. Gaspar drones on.

The ringing in Viktor’s ears grow louder. His sight blurs, and his mind easily slips away. 

“Viktor?” nudges Lilia. 

Suddenly, the ringing disappears. Viktor jolts, finding Mr. Gaspar gone. He shakes his head and mutters, “I’m going to the restroom, Aunt Lilia.” He escapes from her grip and runs to the direction of the restroom. 

“Yakov!” she calls out, waving for her husband’s attention. 

Viktor runs into the first restroom he sees, wiping away the tears at his eyes. He closes the stall door behind him, his breath coming out in gasps. He stares at the toilet, briefly wondering what it’ll be like to simply escape far away from here. 

The restroom door opens again, voices coming closer. Feminine voices chatter in mid-conversation as Viktor looks up in horror, the very first feeling he has truly felt since the accident. 

“Such tragic deaths!” says one nasal-congested voice. She enters the stall to the right of Viktor’s, her friend roughly opening the door to Viktor’s left stall. “They died and left that poor boy all alone! It’s a good thing he still has family.” 

“Lilia looks beautiful as always.”

“I know! It’s amazing. She retired four years ago, but she has her own ballet studio in Moscow now. She said something about closing it and moving to St. Petersburg.”

“Would make sense. Move closer to the boy. Plus, Dr. Nikiforov’s house is very nice. Wonder where that came from.” 

“The Nikiforovs are old money, Sophia. They don’t need to work a single day in their lives. Dr. Nikiforov’s great-great-something grandfather was in oil. Tatiana Mikhailovna wasn’t poor when she grew up in Sochi as an ice skater. Her banker father personally sponsored her in figure skating for eight years. It’s an incredibly expensive sport! But she was in the Olympics twice, winning gold once. An excellent investment. Though such a pity now. . .” 

Sophia coughs. “Her father still looks very handsome. Distinguished.” 

“Sophia! He’s sixty-eight years old!” 

“But I’m sixty-three and widowed.” 

The other woman laughs. “If you’re hunting for fish, you should look at Nikolai Plisetsky. He’s the biggest fish here. Minister of Defense. He’s fifty-eight years old, a little young for you, my dear. Rumors have it the President will choose him as the Chairman soon.”

Sophia gasps. “No!” 

“He’s young Viktor’s great-uncle.” 

“Part of the oil family?” 

Viktor can’t stand it anymore. He unlocks the stall door and dashes out of the ladies’ restroom. He smashes straight into Uncle Yakov, who peers down at him. 

“Vitya, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Sorry,” Viktor stammers out. “I got lost.” 

*OAS*

How is one supposed to act when mourning?

Viktor doesn’t know. 

It only feels like a bad dream he hasn’t woken up from. 

*OAS*

He finds that his parents’ house will have renters, and he will be moving to Aunt Lilia’s apartment in the city. 

He doesn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified. 

*OAS*

Regardless, the only place he feels at home is on the ice. 

*OAS*

Some days, he can almost hear his mother’s voice calling out to him.  _ A little higher, a little straighter, Vitya! _ she would say. 

*OAS*

Lilia, with not a single pitying look in eyes, allows him to use her ballet studio to sharpen his skills. He finds himself throwing the remaining pieces of his soul into ballet, onto the ice. He feels somewhat whole when he copies the movements Lilia teaches him and stretches himself further and further into near impossible positions. 

She makes no comparison between Viktor and his mother like everyone else does. 

*OAS*

Yakov sits down at one end of the dinner table. He glances over to Viktor and casually says, “I got a report from your teachers, Vitya.”

Viktor makes a noncommittal sound.  

“You’re failing all of your classes and not doing any of your homework.” A pause. “Why?”

“I don’t feel like doing it.” 

“Vitya, you need to study. You can only be on the ice for so long. You need something to fall back to.” 

Lilia says, “Perhaps he shouldn’t go to school.”

“What?” chokes out Yakov. 

“He’s serious about figure skating, Yakov. He has great potential to become a world-class figure skater. If he wants to join the major competitions, he shouldn’t attend a regular school anymore. They spend too much time sitting around in desks and using VR to learn. We can get tutors for him instead, so he can train. We should get his grandfather to help.”

“You’re serious, Lilia?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Vitya, what do you think?”

He nods. 

“Okay. But for a year, I will watch you do homework, Vitya. If I see a single homework not completed, if I see a failing score, you will pull out of training and you will be off the ice. Back to regular school. Understood?” 

_ * _ OAS*

**10 Years Old:** **St. Petersburg, Russia**

It turns out that Yakov’s office is only place Viktor would actually study in. Anywhere else like the rink or the ballet studio would send Viktor dancing and moving instead. Two years of studying in Yakov’s office at the tiny desk and stool set aside specifically for Viktor. Yakov is someone very important in the government, but Viktor couldn’t care less. It’s a place of peace and quiet where everyone would always softly knock before entering and never raise their voices louder to a shout. 

He stumbles across an unfamiliar word in Russian class, mouthing the syllables out and scratching out the cyrillic letters in mid-air with his fingers. Stumbling out the door, he ducks his head into Uncle Yakov’s colleagues’ offices. He finds them all strangely empty, which is unusual. It’s not lunch time or break time for them all to be off. He spies an uniformed soldier standing stoically in front of the largest conference room. 

“Sir, is Yakov Feltsman in there?” he asks. 

The soldier does not respond, merely lowering his eyes for a moment before standing even more stiffer than before. He blinks evenly between seconds, more of a machine than a human being. 

Viktor moves around him, the door sliding open to him when he waves the little security badge Yakov gave him in front of the scanner. Viktor allows a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the shadows of the conference room. All three large monitors in the room flashes through scenes of  _ Terra Invasion _ , a virtual reality game Viktor’s father loved. He remembers playing with him on friday nights after his father came home from work. 

Strangely enough, an uniformed soldier lays down on the carpet while Uncle Yakov and all his colleagues watch the monitors with focused attention. An empty set of virtual reality equipment, including a full functional treadmill box, sits haphazardly in the corner. 

“Uncle Yakov?” Viktor whispers, sneaking by people to stand at his uncle’s side. He tugs at his uncle’s hand. 

“Not now, Vitya.” A pause. “Do you need help with something?”

Viktor blinks at the screen. “Is that  _ Terra Invasion _ ?” he asks, even though he knows fully well of the answer. “Who’s playing it?” 

“It’s not important.” 

Viktor pouts. “But you never let me play video games.”

“Vitya,” sighs Yakov. “It’s not important.”

Vitya stays silent for a few moments, watching the screen and the movements of the main character. His eyes begin tracking movements, sinking into familiar game play. 

The character moves swiftly through the course, seeking out for her opponent. Which is a computer, Viktor realizes quickly. The computer opponent on the highest difficulty possible. Viktor remembers playing  _ Terra Invasion _ years ago, not playing it anymore because Yakov doesn’t have a virtual reality equipment set in his apartment. The character, a dainty elf girl, casts spells after another in an interesting formation, but. . .

“This is boring,” Viktor says, bouncing on his feet. “The forest elf is winning everything, and the computer sucks. But the elf could have ended this a long time ago. At about level 20.” 

“Vitya.” Yakov shushes him. “We are busy.” 

“No, wait,” interrupts an uniformed military official. He bends down to Viktor’s eye level, tilting his head curiously. He gestures to the monitors. “Viktor, right? Tell me more about this.” 

Viktor smiles. “Well, I have played this many times before. But there’s a loophole at about level 20 where the simulation has a glitch, where there isn’t a cooldown in between spells. So you could stack the spells and easily overwhelm your opponent. It stops when the character hits level 21. So the elf has been playing for sixty-four minutes. She could have stopped playing at the ten minute mark against the computer.” 

“How would you win against the computer without the glitch?” 

“The computer is cunning. It calculates which choices you’ll make while you make them. So it learns how you play. The computer already knows what choices the elf will make before she even makes it. To beat it, you have to level faster than the computer and make irrational choices it wouldn’t expect you to make. You must constantly surprise it. You have to throw it off its game. Be where it doesn’t expect you to be. You play safe, then you play offensive. But you go for the throat.” Viktor pauses, when he realizes the official is still listening to every word he says. 

“How would you beat the elf?”

“The elf is predictable. She keeps to the high ground to keep ahead of the computer. It is why she is winning. But it makes the game like cat and mouse. A slow version.” He glances at the timer, which is now at seventy-three minutes. “A very slow version. I would snuff the elf before she can grow stronger.”

“Would you like to play?”

Viktor catches a flash of warning in Yakov’s eyes. Yet, he ignores his uncle and nods eagerly. “I would love to!” 

Yakov and a few of his colleagues help set up the virtual reality equipment. While Viktor puts on the VR eyewear and stands on the treadmill box, his uncle gently squeezes his wrist and then lets go. Viktor blinks and immerses himself into  _ Terra Invasion _ , the game menu flicking to life in a neutral green. He flicks through the character list and pauses at the beautiful elf girl with long silver hair. A winter elf. It’s a perfect character to counter against the forest elf, but he’s unsure if his opponent will choose that character again. Nevertheless, he selects the girl and finds himself at the starting camp for the game. 

A winter elf captain stands in front of his character. Giving Viktor’s character cold eyes rivaling the coldest of Russia’s winters, he barks, “The Mountain Ogres are about to invade our homeland. Defend our motherland, soldier!”

“Yes, Sir!” says Viktor, grinning broadly. He miss the introduction a lot. He settles into his gaming mode, thinking hard about how to win. It’s important that the Mountain Ogres are attacking the winter elves, but it’s far more important to take out his opponent. Both characters have the abilities to turn the tides of war to a certain direction. If Viktor could set up some things a certain way, leave a few obstacles, he can easily spin it into a direction he chooses. 

His opponent is an ogre. Ogres are fierce and strong. They are resilient against magic. Magic like the same magic winter elves possess. Most players would think ogres would easily win, crushing the elves. A single ogre, after all, can take out a dozen elves before falling to death magic. 

But Viktor is not most players. His father taught him how to play this game, and he learned all on his own how to manipulate the game into his playing field. The same way he knows how to skate a certain way to land a beautiful double lutz. 

By the time he reaches level 15 and stands on the battlefield, he has undoubtedly turns the tide of war onto the sides of the winter elves. A great barrier of magic disintegrates the ogres as they walk through, and Viktor laughs when he finally sees his opponent. A single arrow, an icicle arrow so thin and strong, pierces through the heart of the ogre. 

And there, Viktor wins. 

He pulls off his VR eyewear and laughs. “That wasn’t too hard!” 

The military official cocks his head to the left. He turns to Viktor’s uncle and whispers, “Yakov, I think we need to talk.” He nods at Viktor, approval in his dark blue eyes. “Very excellent job, Viktor.” 

*OAS*

Two days later, the same military official who talked to Viktor enters Yakov’s office after three gentle knocks. Unlike everyone else who enters Yakov’s office, he approaches Viktor’s tiny desk in the corner. He smiles gently, his salt-and-pepper hair a little messy as he runs his hand nervously through it. “Hello, Viktor. I’m Captain Aleksei Illyich. I work for Russian Air Force. What you did last tuesday was amazing.”

“Aleksei,” warningly says Yakov, sitting at his desk. 

“I’m not the only one who thinks Viktor will be one of the greatest assets in the Russian Air Force one day, Yakov.” He pauses, shuffling his feet around. “You know Boris is thinking about recruiting young people into the program. It’s perfect, Yakov. He’s your nephew.”

“Exactly,” coldly replies Yakov. “He’s my nephew.”

“It’s for the good of Russia. Especially with America’s Nightshade. She’s practically unstoppable. We need someone who can go against her. Viktor trashed the Serpent as if he was nothing. Faster than Nightshade did two months ago.” 

Viktor glances up. “The Serpent? As in Russia’s top combatant?”

“Indeed. You were playing against him.”

Viktor drops his pen. “I was? But. . .” 

In a post-World War III world, combatants are chosen by and represents a country. They fight in off-shore wars away from the earth to prevent anyone from dying in this new world. The Serpent is Russia’s top combatant. Perhaps top five in the entire world. His real name is unknown like most combatants, but Viktor bets Serpent is a man. The way he plays is quick and nimble and domineering, the way he controls the drones skillful, but it’s not enough. It’s almost as if he expects to win, his arrogance his strongest weakness. 

“Yes. You are brilliant.” 

“Lilia would not approve. He’s her prodigy. His grandfather wouldn’t either. They’re training him up to be the next figure skating champion.” 

“He can be both. Why not?” 

Yakov sighs, sounding much older than he actually is. 

“The way this goes on, I doubt Viktor will have much of a choice in whether or not he wants to be a combatant. He’s probably the only one we have to beat Nightshade. We’re already losing trading contracts to the US. We can’t afford borrowing the Chinese combatants to protect us. Serpent can only fight for so long, Yakov.”

A chill crawls up Viktor’s spine. “I’ll do it,” he says, somewhat less eager. “I’ll be a combatant.” 

“Vitya, you don’t know the costs.” 

“Don’t worry, Yakov. We’ll be with him every step of the way.” Suddenly, there’s a weird glint in Captain Illyich’s eyes. 

*OAS*

“Unacceptable,” barks out Lilia, her voice still audible even through their closed bedroom door. “What kind of program are you running, Yakov? This is Vitya! I know the idiotic generals are thinking of pulling young teenagers into the stupid program, but why Viktor? He has his whole life in front of him. He doesn’t need to be part of this war!” 

“He will be safe. I’m there.” Yakov gently adds, “Plus, what would it look if we said no? If Viktor says no? What happens to our family? To Nikolai even? They want him so badly.”

A resounding slap sends Viktor stiffening. 

He has never seen or heard Lilia act this way. 

“He is just a child, Yakov!” 

“He won’t die in this war. I’ll be there.” 

“You’re a fool if you think that,” she spits. “This is war where no one has died. Yet.” A pause. “Viktor may think it’s okay to join the program. But one day, mark my words, Yakov. One day, he’ll pull out. And you will help him get out. Whatever the cost to you.” 

*OAS*

He’s skating on private rink time when he sees soldiers standing at the rink entrance. Lilia, scowling, glares at their heads as if she could laser through their necks with sheer will. He throws himself into a triple toe loop, the first triple jump he has ever done. Then he slowly skates over to the entrance. Captain Illyich has his hands folded in front of him. 

“Hello, Viktor,” he greets pleasantly. 

“Hi, Sir.” He steps off the ice. 

*OAS*

**Deaths of Tatiana Mikhailovna, Igor Nikiforov**

**COPPER MOUNTAIN —** Tatiana Mikhailovna and Igor Nikiforov tragically passed away at a ski resort after a ski lift in Colorado has malfunctioned and sent the couple plunging to their deaths five stories below. Local authorities suspect no signs of foul play. The ski resort is expected to pay out four million to ten million dollars in a settlement out of court. The couple leaves behind an eight-year old son. 

Tatiana Mikhailovna, a Russian Olympic Champion and world-renowned women’s single figure skater— 

[read more]


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